


SOS!

by Camelittle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Accidental Dick Insertion, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, Hose kink, M/M, Norse Semen, Ovine Lips, Real Life Kinky London Street Names, Spunk Truck, Touch A Dick And Go, extreme silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 08:46:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2845004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Merlin goes into heat, it's an emergency.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SOS!

**Author's Note:**

> Written because of a late-night drunken conversation with Merlocked18 and Adsullata about crack tags. This is intended to amuse, and not to offend. It's also very silly indeed. Sorry about that.
> 
> With thanks to Rowanbrandybuck for the super-fast beta.
> 
> Disclaimer: These are not my characters, and I am not being paid for writing about them.

There’s only one word for Omega Hunter / Sorcerer Hunter (OH-SH) In Training (IT) Gwen Smith’s first day at work, and that one word is: “It’s a doozy!”

Well, all right, that’s three words. Nearly four. But still.

She scratches her head with her pen, and then stops, suddenly, realising that the lid is off. Damn. She hopes she hasn’t drawn all over her face. Leaning forward to examine herself in the glass screen of the Kilo-Thaumo-Pheremonometer (Kil for short), she succeeds only in steaming it up with her breath. Damn.

She rubs away the fog on Kil’s dial, hoping the rest of the team will be back soon. Half of them have been called out to Cockfosters, where a dozen female omegas have all come into heat at the same time at Southampton Language Academy for Girls. And just a few minutes later they had to send out the remaining members of the squad to deal with a warring pack of alphas who were getting handsy on Mincing Lane. As a rookie fresh out of omega hunter school, Gwen’s been left in the office by herself, and she’s nervous.

And that when the Kil’s dial suddenly spikes. When she looks closely it’s pointing to 110%, which is technically speaking impossible.

Oh no. Alphas at war, simultaneous omega heat eruptions, random outbreaks of innuendo-laden street names, and now Kil going haywire: according to her training there can be only one explanation.

A powerful, magical omega must be going into heat somewhere in London.

Things have not gone this haywire since that legendary occasion, much studied during her Masters in Omega-Thaumo-Pheremonology, when someone fed David Blaine omegosterone for a prank and reports of accidental dick insertion went through the roof. Quite literally in one case.

To confirm her theory she fires up the computer, typing in the postal codes where the incidents have occurred this week, plotting up the data points on her map of London. It’s awful sometimes to have a theory confirmed, and this is just such an occasion. She flinches when she rotates the map and realises that the pattern displayed is in the shape of a giant, erect cock and balls. As she watches a red light, signifying an emergency, starts blinking at the tip of the cock.

Wincing, Gwen notes down the location of the light.

Laycock Street, London N1.

Damn. This is a clusterfuck. And everyone's out on critical missions. It’s no good, Gwen will have to deal with it.

Heart thumping as she pulls on her OH-kit and grabs her OH-helmet, she runs to the one remaining vehicle in the station: the Spunk Truck. With shaking hands she inserts the key into the ignition and fires it up. She glances at the spunkometer to check that it’s still topped up, and her heart clenches when she realises that the dials are dancing round and round. As she watches, disbelieving, one of them transforms into a pair of copulating purple rams, which turn and wink at her before vanishing with a loud “baa”.

“Hells bells,” she mutters under her breath, dragging her hair into a tight ponytail before doing her ejaculator seat checks. Fumbling for the radio with frantic fingers, she jabs at the user interface, allowing herself a moment of relief when she hears General Omega and Sorcerer Hunter Dulac’s voice through the static.

"Dulac here," he says, his voice sounding oddly calm given the state of Gwen's wild pulse.

“Mayday, Mayday,” she shouts into the radio as the automatic gates open and she puts her foot to the floor of the truck. “This is OH - SHIT Gwen Smith here. Emergency! Magical Omega on heat on Laycock Street, London N1! I’m proceeding to the scene now. I need backup. Repeat, immediate backup required! I need someone to cover my rear! I mean, urgently!” Tyres squealing, she rounds the corner, nearly running over a screaming man holding what appear to be a pair of flaming underpants in the air. “It’s a pants on fire situation!” she squeaks into the microphone while she gives the poor chap some temporary relief with a couple of blasts of her hand-held spunk hose. “Mayday! Mayday!”

“Affirmative,” confirms a disembodied voice. “GOSH Dulac here. If it is a magical omega, Gwen, you’re going to need a lot of Norse semen. Truly epic amounts. Are you up for it?”

“Affirmative, GOSH Dulac,” says Gwen, her mouth set in a grim line. This is it! This is what she trained for! Seven years at Omega Hunter school! Just her, OH-SHIT Gwen Smith, purple lights flashing on the roof of the Spunk Truck, filled as it is to the brim with epic amounts of fresh semen, newly imported from Scandinavia. Typing “Laycock Street, N1” into _Dick-Dick_ , the Sat-Nav, she guns the throttle and races off.

She presses the button for the siren and then abruptly turns it off again when it starts playing Barry White’s “ _Let’s Get It On_ ”. Out of the corner of her eye she notices that her favourite drive through take-away’s sign has changed from “ _Choose-a-Filling-and-Go!_ ” to “ _Touch-a-Dick-and-Go_!” Hot damn! It’s even worse than she thought. 

Finding her path through Percy Passage blocked, she takes a detour via Swallow Passage, and finally bursts onto Cumming Street before eventually arriving at the address. She has to fend off a couple of gangs of marauding alphas with a couple more squirts from her in-cockpit spunk hose. They slink away, but the dial on the alphasterone-ometer is still going round and round when she turns to the house.

Gazing up at an otherwise unassuming-looking suburban window, she knows she’s in the right place. Issuing from it is a steady stream of magical purple clouds in the shape of fornicating sheep. Without further thought she unravels the kinky spunk hose, has a brief but heroic fight with a semen-encrusted hose kink, and finally discharges the payload through the window, breathing a sigh of relief when the supply of ethereal copulating rams starts to peter out.

At that moment back up arrives. Lancelot looks so handsome in his OH-kit, even through her OH-visor, even when he’s trudging through a thick layer of discharged, fragrant semen. Together they barge open the door of the house. They hover near the bottom of the stairs, and the moment of pride when Lance smiles at her and says “After You!” makes it all feel worthwhile.

When she finally presses open the door to the bedroom and steps through the goo, she finds a still sleeping dark-haired man, lying face down on soggy sheets encrusted with the finest Norse semen.

“Arthur, Arthur!” the man on the bed is moaning as he humps the bedclothes, clearly still in the throes of an amazing dream. All about him, clouds of vaporous magical sheep hump everything in sight, including each other, amid a cacophony of ecstatic baa-ing sounds. It’s like being at a celestial ovine orgy.

“Ahem!” coughs Gwen.

The man wakes abruptly, limbs flailing, and sits up, his jet-black hair slicked up in tufts as he rubs his eyes. He doesn’t look much, for a magical omega, but he must be the one responsible for it all. Gwen lowers her spunk hose as the last of the sheep fixes her with a baleful eye before vanishing in a haze of purple sparks.

“What?” says the man into the sudden silence. “What’s going on?”

“You were dreaming, sir,” says Gwen, trying to sound reassuring, stating the obvious as she lifts her visor, and feeling very sorry for him. He looks so young! Beside, it’s not a great way to wake up; finding that your room is coated with epic amounts of semen. She’s not sure how he’s ever going to get the smell out of the curtains.

His eyes widen as he takes in her crusted OH-suit, the kinky hose, and the patient line of backup GOSH’s standing at her shoulder.

He swallows, looking around at the mess. “I couldn’t sleep,” he says, sounding (and Gwen groaned to herself even as she thought this) a little bit sheepish. “I couldn't sleep, right? I've not been sleeping well, there's this bloke at work, Ar...  and I can't sleep, I'm... I mean, I was counting sheep, like you do, and the suddenly one of the sheep turned into Ar… a man, right? And he had these pouty ovine lips and golden fleece - hair, I mean! Golden hair! I’m not into sheep, not like that I mean, oh God!”

He flushes beetroot red, biting his lip, and Gwen grins at him reassuringly. “It’s all right, sir,” she says. “You’d better come with us before all the alphas find you. They’re wandering the streets of Islington in horny packs right now. We’ll get you cleaned up and keep you safe until it wears off, or your alpha can claim you. I imagine he’s going frantic, whoever he is, poor bloke. He’s probably being attacked by a flock of marauding magical rams! You have some powerful omega pheremones, sir!”  

“Merlin. My name’s Merlin.” He rolls his legs to the side of the bed and starts dragging on some clothes.  “But what do you mean, til it wears off? What wears off?”

“Your heat cycle. You must have known you would be going into heat?”

He looks puzzled. “No? I’m not in heat, yet,” he says, shaking his head. “I just had an erotic dream, thats all.”

Gwen stares at him, at the semen-encrusted bed, at the curtains, stained as they are with purple lanolin, and recalls the man with the underpant inferno, the marauding alphas, the _Touch-a Dick-and-Go_ shop, and the ethereal, randy rams. She stares, and stares, in growing incredulity, and shakes her head as it dawns on her that this is not yet an emergency. Oh no. This - this is just a drill.

“Crumbs!” she chokes out. “Seriously? That was just a wet dream? Gosh! What’s it going to be like when you really go into heat?”

She hears Lance’s sardonic voice behind her.

“Ahem!” he says, always polite. “I think we might need to get on the phone to Scandinavia?” He gestures towards the congealing mess on the floor  with one gloved hand and then shrugs. “Because we’re going to need a lot more where that came from!”

 


End file.
